


slow dancing in the darkness

by labeledbones



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labeledbones/pseuds/labeledbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Some things come easily to Sam. But other parts of this new relationship frustrate Sam.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	slow dancing in the darkness

Some things come easily to Sam.

"I'm some sort of gay sex god, right?" He says, flopping back on the bed, out of breath, sweating. "Who knew."

"Who-" Blaine cannot form words, cannot move, cannot think. He has been unhinged completely. He had no idea- He really just had no idea. He tries to catch his breath, checks to make sure there are in fact still bones in his body, and then he's climbing onto Sam again.

But other parts of this new relationship frustrate Sam.

"I just want to feel more like your boyfriend," he says in line at Duane Reade. They're buying condoms and skittles and really just an extraordinary amount of Dr. Pepper.

"You mean besides the loving me and having sex with me part?" Blaine asks. "That's not boyfriend enough for you?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "I mean, yes, but I just- I'm used to being the man, you know?" He reaches out for a king size Snickers and drops it into their basket. "And I know this is different and I'm honestly thrilled that it's different, but I still want to, like, _be your boyfriend_."

Blaine picks the Snickers out of the basket and puts it back on the shelf, exchanges it for two king size Kit Kats. "Are we buying enough condoms?" he asks absently. They're kind of at the point where they just use them for the show of it. They're both totally clean and not planning on sleeping with anyone else.

"Blaine," Sam says urgently. "You're not even listening. And, yes, we have enough condoms. You know we don't even need them." He turns to the older woman in line behind them. "Don't worry, ma'am, we 're disease free and we love each other very much."

They move up a little in the agonizingly slow line. "I'm listening," Blaine says. "But I'm just not sure what you're talking about. You are my boyfriend."

Sam groans. "I don't know how to explain it. The romance part, the wooing, the just feeling like you - not to be possessive - but feeling like you're mine." He goes quiet for a few seconds. "It was just different with girls and I'm trying to figure out how that translates to you, to us.'

Blaine looks up at him, a hand on his arm. "Don't overthink it," he says. "We'll get there."

 

So then there are dates. Sam insists on taking Blaine out, not telling him where they're going, picking him up after work even though all that means is showing up outside when Blaine gets off. He takes him to fancy places they can't afford in the West Village, pulls out his chair, tells him, "You look really nice tonight," which okay yeah makes Blaine blush a little, but it feels off, forced almost.

When they're done with dinner, Blaine takes Sam's hand out on the sidewalk. "That was nice," he says and he means it.

Sam is upset though. He stops walking.

"What?" Blaine moves out of the way for a dog and its owner. "I had a nice time."

Sam shakes his head. "It wasn't-" he starts. "Yes, I had a nice time, too, and it was fine, but it still isn't what I wanted."

Blaine has been trying to let Sam figure this out for himself, trying to be patient. He knows this relationship is new to him on a lot of levels, but- "I don't know what you're looking for, Sam. I don't know what you want. It sounds to me like you maybe just don't want to be dating a guy, is that it?" He's angry. He's yelling in public. He hates this kind of person, but here he is. "You just want the sex and the adoration, but the actual dating part of this, of being with another man, isn't working for you. Do I have that right?"

Sam just looks at him, eyes shining just a little. He shakes his head and looks down at his shoes. He doesn't tell Blaine that he's wrong. "Listen," Blaine says, moving in closer so he can keep his voice at an appropriate level. "Let's just go home."

 

"You have to know that I want everything with you, every part of this," Sam says when they're finally home, taking their coats off.

Blaine turns around to face him. He sighs, exhausted. "I want to believe that, but you've been so weird about this whole thing lately that I just-"

They haven't bothered turning on any lights. Sam is just a shadow by the door. Blaine wishes he would come closer.

"I wish I knew how to explain it, but I just need to find out how we fit together. Or, how I fit, you know?" He walks over to where Blaine is leaning back against the arm of the couch. He takes Blaine's face in his hands. "But I love you and I hope you'll just bear with me here, okay?"

"Yeah, yes. Okay. Just hurry up." Blaine tilts his head up, asking, and Sam comes down and kisses him.

 

And then there are the home cooked meals. Candles. Quiet Motown on the stereo. Flowers on the table. Blaine comes home to an apartment filled with delicious food smells and his boyfriend standing, aproned, in the kitchen.

"Hey, get out," Sam yells at him. "I don't want you to see it in progress. I just want to present it to you when I'm done."

Blaine pretends to pout and leans against the counter. "Can I at least get a 'honey I'm home' kiss?"

Sam kisses him and then nudges Blaine with his hip. "Now, go."

The food is delicious even if it's just spaghetti and bread and salad. Sam is adorably bashful about the whole thing. He'd asked his mom for her spaghetti sauce recipe, burned the first pot to shit.

"Remember in high school when you'd just pour Spaghetti-o's into a bowl and hand it to me for dinner?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah, this is basically the adult version of that," Sam says, smiling. "This time there's wine."

Later, half drunk, kissing on the couch, Blaine says, "Tonight is incredible," fingers fumbling at the buttons on Sam's shirt.

"The wining and dining part or the making out part?"

"Mm," Blaine hums into Sam's mouth, hands all over his freshly exposed skin. "Both. You're incredible."

He pulls back and breathes for a seconds, looks up at Sam. "Was tonight romantic enough for you? Did you find whatever the hell you've been looking for?" He isn't mad about it anymore. If anything, he's deeply curious to find out what exactly it's going to take for Sam to truly feel like he's Blaine's boyfriend. Because if anal sex and ending every call with 'love you love you' isn't enough- ''

Sam stops, sits back on the couch, shirt half unbuttoned, lips swollen. He frowns. "No," he finally says. "God, I don't know what's wrong with me. Why can't I just feel like-" He stops, leans forward, kisses Blaine firmly on the mouth. "I'm in this. I am so in this. It's like I'm just waiting for something to click into place, you know? And then I'll be- Maybe it's stupid."

Blaine shakes his head. "Whatever you need. I'm here," he says. "Now please get back on top of me."

 

And then there's the night Blaine wakes up at 3 AM and can't get back to sleep. He shuffles quietly out into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. As he's standing at the counter, drinking it, he hears Sam come up behind him, feels his warmth, his arms wrapping around Blaine's waist, mouth against the back of Blaine's neck.

He smiles in the darkness as Sam wordlessly turns him around. Sam's hands are warm on Blaine's hips, Sam's eyes the only source of light in the room. "Can't sleep?" he murmurs, moving in closer to Blaine.

"No, weird dreams.” Blaine says. "My mom was a dolphin."

"What was your dad?" Sam's voice is so quiet. Blaine isn't sure if Sam is even fully awake.

"A shark," he says, bringing his voice down to the same volume as Sam's. "The symbolism of this isn't lost on me."

Blaine suddenly notices that they're moving. The two of them. Sam has one hand at the small of Blaine's back and the other is- They're dancing and Blaine doesn't know when they started dancing. But they're dancing, and Sam is holding him so close. And Sam is singing. Blaine hasn't heard Sam sing like this in years maybe. He's singing low, right against Blaine's ear, his voice warm and _darlin' you send me_ as they make slow circles across the floor.

Blaine wants to laugh, but he also wants to cry. He's slow dancing with Sam in their kitchen at 3:30 in the morning and he's so in love he can't stand it.

Their dancing slows to just swaying and then it's just the two of them holding onto each other in the dark. Blaine presses his face into Sam's chest, breathes in, says, "You're my man."

Sam doesn't say anything and Blaine looks up at him, feels Sam's arms tighten around him. "Damn right," Sam says.


End file.
